The alarm rang at 6:30 a.m., sharp and unforgiving.
Joshey moved slightly beneath the sheets, dragging himself upright with a long yawn. He stretched, joints cracking faintly, before shuffling toward the bathroom.
The cold splash of water hit his face. He brought out his toothbrush and brushed his teeth thoroughly. Rinse. Then the shower — steam curling against the glass as he let the water run over him, washing away the residue of sleep. He wiped the mirror clean with his hand and glanced at his reflection — tired eyes, black strands of hair already untidy.
Back in his room, he checked his phone. Headlines scrolled by: global politics, a market dip, some breakthrough in renewable energy. Nothing unusual, nothing alarming. Just the world, as it always was.
He made a simple breakfast: two eggs, toast, and a cup of black coffee. The morning light drifted across the table as he ate quietly. Afterward, he got dressed for work — a clean shirt, polished shoes, and a neatly tied knot in his tie. A quick spray of cologne finished the routine. He picked up his phone and keys, slung his bag over his shoulder, and headed out the door.
He drove to his workplace at Omniva Tech Resources, the day unfolded as it always did. Joshey worked in Human Resources, specifically in global supply chain recruitment. His desk was lined with orderly stacks of resumes, an open laptop glowing with scheduled interviews. And today the target was Lagos, Nigeria.
He dialed numbers, his voice professional, calm, measured:
Joshey:
"Hello, this is Joshey calling from Omniva Tech Resources. Am I speaking with Mr. Adeyemi?"
Candidate:
"Yes, this is Adeyemi."
Joshey:
"Good afternoon, thank you for taking my call. I'd like to discuss your application for the Global Supply Chain Analyst position. Is now a good time to talk?"
Candidate:
"Yes, that's fine."
Joshey:
"Perfect. I'll just ask you a few quick questions to get a better sense of your background and interest in the role. Nothing too formal. Let's start with your experience — could you tell me a bit about your current position and how it relates to supply chain management?"
Candidate:
"Well, I'm currently working with a logistics company where I handle regional distribution, track shipments, and work closely with vendors…"
Joshey:
"I see. That's good exposure. Here at Omniva, the role involves working on international operations — we coordinate suppliers, warehouses, and clients across different time zones. Have you had experience working with global teams?"
Candidate:
"Not directly, but I've worked with partners across West Africa."
Jozay:
"Alright, that's still relevant. Now, in terms of tools — are you comfortable using ERP systems like SAP or Oracle?"
Candidate:
"I've used SAP for inventory tracking, but I'm still learning some of the advanced modules."
Joshey:
"Understood. We do provide training, but it's good to see you have the basics. Another quick one — how do you typically handle a supply chain disruption? Let's say a supplier misses a shipment deadline."
Candidate:
"Well, I usually try to communicate with the supplier immediately, confirm the cause of the delay, and then inform my manager while also checking if we can reroute from an alternate supplier."
Joshey:
"Good approach. Communication is key in those situations. Lastly, what made you interested in applying to Omniva Tech?"
Candidate:
"I admire how the company has expanded into global markets. I want to grow my career in an international setting, and this role seems like the right step."
Joshey:
"Alright, thank you for sharing that. I'll make a note here. At this stage, my role is just to gather information and pass it along to the hiring manager. If you're selected for the next stage, you'll be contacted for a formal interview. Do you have any questions for me before we wrap up?"
Candidate:
"Yes, I'd like to know more about the team size."
Joshey:
"Of course. The team is mid-sized — about twelve people spread across three regions. Collaboration is very important to us. Anything else?"
Candidate:
"No, that's all."
Joshey:
"Alright then. Thank you again for your time, Adeyemi. It was nice speaking with you. We'll be in touch soon. Have a great day."
Candidate:
"Thank you, you too."
He guided candidates through first calls, weighing words, gauging tones, deciding who might fit and who wouldn't. Between calls, he coordinated with managers, aligning calendars, balancing time zones across continents. To his colleagues, he was efficient. Reliable. Always composed.
The last call ended, and Joshey leaned back in his chair, rubbing the bridge of his nose. His headset clicked off, the hum of the office filling the silence.
"Long day?" a voice asked. It was Tunde from the next desk, peering over his monitor with a half-smile.
Joshey chuckled softly. "Feels like I've spoken to the entire population of Lagos today. Resumes, interviews, scheduling… repeat."
"Better you than me," Tunde said, shaking his head. "At least you don't have to deal with angry clients like the finance team."
Another colleague, Ada, walked past with a folder tucked under her arm. "Don't let him fool you, Joshey," she said. "You're the one we all rely on. If you ever take a vacation, this place will collapse."
Joshey raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Good to know my absence would cause total chaos. Maybe I should test that theory."
Ada laughed, waving him off. "Don't you dare."
He leaned back in his chair, exhaling. His shoulders ached from sitting too long. With a glance at the clock, he muttered, "I think I need a coffee before my brain stops working."
"Bring me one too," Tunde said, grinning.
Joshey shook his head and stood. "You'll survive."
With that, he loosened his tie slightly and made his way toward the break room
The small break room down the hall buzzed faintly with the whir of the machine.
"Taking a break?" a voice asked.
He turned to find Claire already there, stirring sugar into her cup. She was in marketing — always sharp with her reports, always friendly in the hallways.
"Yeah," Joshey said, pressing the button on the machine. "If I look at one more résumé, I might start hiring people just for having a nice font."
Claire laughed softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Well, if you ever get tired of HR, you could always switch to design. Fonts are very underrated."
He smirked at the joke, waiting for his coffee. "I'll keep that in mind."
As the machine filled his cup, Claire watched him with a faint smile. She lingered just a second too long before sipping her drink, eyes following the way he adjusted his tie and leaned against the counter. Her words were casual, but her tone carried a warmth she didn't use with anyone else.
"So… any big plans after work?" she asked, trying to sound offhand.
"Not really. Just heading home, maybe catch a movie," Joshey replied. He blew on his coffee and took a careful sip, already half-thinking about the next call on his schedule.
Claire nodded, hiding the flicker of disappointment behind another sip. "Sounds relaxing."
He gave a polite smile, oblivious. "Enjoy the rest of your day, Claire."
"You too, Joshey," she said. Her voice was steady, but her eyes lingered on him even after he left the room.
When he returned to his desk, the office hum was the same, though the stack of résumés looked even taller than before. He placed his cup beside the keyboard, still warm, and slipped back into his chair.
"Didn't bring me one?" Tunde teased without looking up from his screen.
Joshey gave a half-smile. "Consider this character-building."
Ada chuckled from across the aisle. "Don't let him fool you, Tunde. He's just stingy."
He shook his head, taking another sip. "You two would starve without me, and now you'd blame me for thirst, too."
The lighthearted banter faded quickly as he put his headset back on, the next call already queued. Another candidate. Another measured conversation. The routine closed over him again, like the steady tide pulling back to sea.
By five o'clock, the office hum began to fade. Papers shuffled, chairs scraped against the floor. Joshey stood, adjusted his tie, and offered his usual polite smile.
"Good night," he said.
"See you tomorrow," came the replies.
He walked out into the fading light, the city carrying on around him, a river of noise and motion that seemed endless. Natural day in Lagos city
Joshey pulled his car into the street, the polished black sedan Gliding softly as it rolled to a stop. Even at night, the vehicle caught eyes — an expensive machine in a modest neighborhood. Children playing nearby slowed their games, staring until he parked.
He stepped out, jacket folded over his arm, and headed toward the small food stand just a few doors down. The aroma of fried chicken and stew drifted into the street, mixing with the faint smoke of roasted plantain from another corner.
"Ah, Mr. Joshey!" the food seller, Mama Ruth, greeted warmly the moment she saw him. She was already scooping rice into a plate. "Welcome, welcome. I was just saying it's been a while since you came by yourself. Hope work is treating you well?"
Joshey smiled politely, slipping his hands into his pockets. "Work is work. You know how it is. Just wanted something quick tonight."
"What will you eat?" she asked, leaning closer. "I still have chicken — big pieces — and small fried plantain on the side."
"Give me rice, plantain, and two pieces of chicken," he said, nodding.
She laughed knowingly as she packed the food. "You and this chicken! If I ever stop frying it, you'll stop buying from me, eh?"
Joshey chuckled. "You know me too well, Mama Ruth."
As she handed him the warm bag of food, he passed her a few notes. She held them against her chest, smiling. "May God continue to bless your hustle, my son. We like to see people from our street doing well."
"Thank you," he said, lifting the bag slightly. "See you tomorrow."
"Tomorrow," she echoed, waving as he walked back to his car.
The sedan's engine purred to life, headlights sweeping briefly across the narrow street before he pulled back into his compound. The warm weight of the food sat on the passenger seat, the smell filling the car, another ordinary evening in a life that looked — at least from the outside — complete.
The tires crunched lightly over the gravel as Josay pulled into the compound. The familiar metallic creak of the gate closing behind him echoed faintly in the evening air. He killed the engine, stepped out, and the sudden quiet pressed in around him.
Keys jingled in his hand as he walked up to the front door. He slid them into the lock with practiced ease, pushed the door open, and dropped the keyring onto the small wooden bowl by the entrance. It landed with a soft clatter — the sound that always told him he was home.
The house smelled faintly of cologne and furniture polish, still air holding the day's warmth. He slipped off his shoes neatly, setting them by the rack, and made his way toward the bathroom.
The second bath of the day was slower, almost indulgent. Warm water ran over his shoulders, carrying away the cling of the office. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the steam soften the tension in his muscles. When he stepped out, he dried off calmly, tying the towel firm around his waist before changing into something casual — a plain t-shirt and loose trousers.
In the kitchen, he set the bag of food down and began unpacking it. The clink of plates filled the quiet space as he set the table: rice, fried plantain, and chicken neatly arranged under the warm yellow glow of the overhead light. He poured himself a glass of water, slid into his chair, and for the first time all day, the house was truly still.
The fork scraped gently against the plate as he began to eat, the faint sound of the television in the background — just noise to fill the silence.
The fork clinked softly against his plate as Joshey finished the last bite. On the television, his favorite series played, filling the living room with sound and light. A scene came on that made him laugh out loud, a rare crack in his usual calm.
"Auraa!" he said, pointing at the screen like he was cheering from the sidelines. He shook his head, still smiling faintly as he chewed, eyes glued to the show.
When the plate was empty, he pushed it aside and leaned back in his chair, his gaze never leaving the TV. The series wound its way toward the finale, and as the credits finally rolled, he let out a quiet breath.
"Damn," he muttered to himself. "Final episodes always hit the most. Guess it's done now…"
The room fell still, the sudden silence pressing around him. For a moment, he just sat there, the glow of the blank screen reflecting in his eyes. Then he rose slowly, collecting the dishes and setting them in the sink without thought.
His steps carried him down the hall toward his personal workspace. The door opened with a quiet creak, revealing the room's order: neat desk, drawers aligned, a place that felt both professional and personal. But on the desk, almost waiting, lay two objects that didn't belong to the image of the man who smiled at colleagues and joked with food sellers.
A black mask.
A pair of black gloves.
He looked at them without expression, as if they had always been there.
Joshey moved to the drawer. The metallic weight of the gun met his hand. He checked it with the same calm precision he'd used to review résumés earlier in the day. A soft click.
He sat down, mask and gloves still in his peripheral vision.
The gun felt heavy in his hand as he raised it, turning it toward his temple.
A steady breath.
One last thought.
And then —
The crack split the silence.
It was instant. No flashes, no drifting, no afterlife. One moment there was nothing. The next —
Joshey 's eyes snapped open.
Sunlight hit him hard, the air warm and heavy with the smell of earth. His hands… they weren't empty. He was gripping the wooden handle of a rake, dirt pressed beneath his fingernails. His body moved on instinct, pulling soil across a narrow patch of farmland.
He blinked rapidly, staring at his arms. The rake slipped from Joshey's hands, thudding against the soil. He stared down at his arms.
They weren't his.
The skin was pale — so pale the veins beneath were faintly visible, as if sunlight had never touched them. His fingers were longer, thinner, calloused in different places. His breathing came quick, uneven.
"No, no, no," he muttered, stumbling toward the small puddle at the edge of the farmland. He dropped to his knees, leaning over it.
The reflection staring back was not the man from Lagos. Gone was his dark skin, his close-cut hair, his familiar face. Instead, pale yellow eyes glowed faintly in the rippling water. White strands of hair framed a stranger's face.
Joshey reeled back, clutching at his chest. "This… isn't me."
The hut loomed behind him, crude and unfamiliar — a structure made of wood and straw, patched walls leaning in strange angles. Chickens scurried across the yard, goats bleated nearby, the rhythm of life simple but foreign.
His chest tightened. This wasn't Nigeria. The soil, the air, the faces of the people he glimpsed in the distance — all of it looked strange. The cut of their clothes, the shape of the tools they carried. Their language drifted faintly to his ears, and though the sounds were harsh and clipped, his mind seemed to understand them as if he had always known.
"Clearly, this isn't Nigeria." He shook his head, panic rising. "Where… where am I?"
And then, like a whisper curling up from the marrow of his bones, another voice slid into his thoughts.
Joshey staggered back from the puddle, still staring at those pale hands, that stranger's face reflected in the water. His pulse thundered in his ears.
"This… this doesn't make sense!" he shouted. "I'm not—this isn't me! And whose body is this?"
The voice came again, soft but firm inside his mind.
"Mine."
Joshey froze. His breath came in sharp bursts. "Yours? Then shouldn't you be panicking right now? Someone just hijacked your body! I'm the one losing my mind here!"
There was a pause — then Elias answered, his tone calm, almost weary.
"Panicking won't solve anything. I've learned that frying up over little things never does."
Joshey's hands trembled. "Little things? This is not a little thing! I died. I shot myself. I was in Lagos, and now I'm here, in some… farm, in your body. And you're telling me not to panic?"
"You're still breathing, aren't you?" Elias said. "That's already something. We'll figure out the rest."
Joshey swallowed hard, the weight of Elias's words settling uncomfortably in his chest. The calmness wasn't reassuring — it was unsettling.
Joshey rubbed his temples, still pacing the yard. "Look… I was in Lagos. That's where I lived. That's where I—" He stopped himself. "Where I died."
Inside his head, Elias's voice stirred.
"Where is Lagos?"
Joshey blinked. "What do you mean? It's in Nigeria."
"Nigeria?" Elias repeated, puzzled. "Where is that?"
Joshey swallowed. "…Africa. Nigeria is in Africa."
"And where is Africa?" Elias asked, his tone not mocking, but genuinely lost.
Joshey froze. His mouth opened, but no answer came. He'd spent years networking, talking with people across continents, across borders, yet the weight of that question hit him like a stone. Elias wasn't joking. He truly didn't know.
"Wait…" Joshey said slowly. "You don't know Africa?"
"No," Elias replied plainly. "But I can tell you where you are. This is Caligurn."
Joshey frowned. The name meant nothing. He turned it over in his mind, but it never connected. All those years of calls, conferences, maps — he had never heard of such a place.
"A city? Where in the world is that?"
For the first time, Elias chuckled. "City? No. Caligurn isn't a city. It's a continent."
Joshey felt the blood drain from his face. His knees nearly buckled as the truth pressed in.
This wasn't another country.
This wasn't Africa.
This wasn't Earth.
He looked down again at the pale hands, the rake, the strange hut, the chickens scratching the soil. Everything clicked into a terrifying clarity.
"…I'm on a different planet," he whispered.
Joshey staggered inside the hut, his chest tight. He ran his hands across the table, over the strange scrolls, the alien symbols. His voice cracked as he spoke out loud, not caring if anyone saw him talking to himself.
"This doesn't make sense. I was in Lagos. My life. My work. My home. Then—then I…" He stopped. His hands trembled.
Elias's voice filled the silence, soft but steady.
"Then you what?"
Joshey sank into the wooden chair, burying his face in his pale hands. "I ended it. Put the gun to my head and pulled the trigger. That's how I got here."
A pause. Elias didn't gasp. Didn't shout. Just silence, then a measured reply.
"Why?"
Joshey laughed bitterly. I dont know, and i also dont feel like making this a conversation. He swallowed hard, blinking back the heat rising in his eyes. "But I pulled the trigger. Simple as that."
For the first time, Elias's tone wavered, not out of pity, but thoughtfulness.
"Strange. Where I come from, people fight to hold onto life, even when it crushes them. You had life, but you chose death."
"Eh, Life is such a bore, but now, and now i feel like i am a stranger in the body of a kid"
A long silence. Then Elias's voice, quiet but sharp:
"More than you think. This is my body you're standing in, remember? Do you really think I gave it up willingly?"
Joshey froze, breath catching. He hadn't thought about that. Elias wasn't just a voice — he was the man who had lived this life before.
Joshey tried to steady himself. "So… what are you then? Dead? A ghost?"
"Alive. And not. I'm still here, watching. You've taken my place, but my voice remains. That's my curse."
Joshey pressed his palms into the table, staring at the alien symbols. His voice broke. "So I died… and woke up in someone else's prison."
Elias's tone softened, almost like a teacher's.
"A world where mana shapes life."
Joshey leaned back in the chair, Elias's voice still lingering in his thoughts. The words "mana shapes life" echoed like a distant bell. He had heard "mana" before—in stories, in video games, in anime. But never like this. Never as something that was real.
He lifted one pale hand, staring at the veins beneath the skin. They pulsed faintly, but as he focused, he felt… something. A warmth, subtle and strange, thrumming through him like a second heartbeat.
"What… is that?" he whispered.
Elias's tone was patient, instructive.
"That is mana. The energy that sustains this world. It flows through soil, sky, rivers… and us. Without it, life here cannot exist."
Joshey raised his hand higher, almost instinctively, as if expecting the air to answer him. His chest tightened. Something inside tugged, sharp and immediate — and then, to his shock, the air around his fingers shimmered.
A flicker of red-gold light sparked in his palm. In the next instant, it swelled violently, heat bursting outward in a sudden wave. The ceiling above him cracked and splintered with a sharp boom, straw and wood scattering as a section of the roof tore open. Sunlight poured through the ragged hole, smoke curling upward.
Joshey staggered back, staring wide-eyed at the flames that had danced in his hand only moments before. "What the hell—?!" His voice broke, half-panicked.
The fire blinked out as quickly as it came, leaving only the smell of scorched straw and the ruined roof above.
Elias's voice, for the first time, faltered.
"…That shouldn't be possible."
Joshey stumbled back a step, staring at the flame dancing in his hand. "What the hell is this?!" His voice cracked, both awe and panic surging through him.
The flame answered his panic, growing hotter, brighter — until instinctively, Joshey clenched his fist. The fire blinked out like a candle snuffed by the wind. Only the smell of scorched straw lingered.
His breath heaved. "I just—made fire. Out of nothing. I didn't even try."
A long silence. Elias's voice, when it returned, was sharper, shaken in a way that made Joshey uneasy.
"…You wielded mana. Effortlessly. That shouldn't be possible. Not for you. Not for anyone who just arrived in this body."
Joshey glanced at the pale hand still trembling. "What do you mean?"
Elias hesitated. His tone dropped, carrying a bitterness he hadn't revealed before.
"I… I know Pyro Mana. I studied it, understood it better than most. My knowledge is vast — theories, applications, incantations. But when it came to control… I failed. Every attempt burned too hot, or fizzled out entirely. I could barely manage a spark without it slipping from me. Years of practice, and I remained at the mercy of my own flames."
He paused, as though struggling with the words.
"And you, who just entered this body… you felt it instantly. You shaped it without even knowing how."
Joshey's throat went dry. "So… I can do what you couldn't."
Elias's voice hardened, equal parts awe and frustration.
"More than that. You bypassed years of failure in a single breath. You shouldn't even be able to feel mana so soon — and yet, you wielded it as though it already belonged to you."
The words hung heavy in the dim hut. Joshey clenched and unclenched his hand, still half-expecting sparks to fly again. The thought sank like stone in his stomach.
Not only was he in a new world.
Not only was he trapped in someone else's body.
He could already do things its original owner never could.
Joshey stared up at the gaping hole in the ceiling, beams of sunlight spilling through the curling smoke. His hand still trembled from the sudden release of power.
He swallowed and whispered, almost cautiously, "Elias… why couldn't you wield mana like this? You said you knew Pyro Mana."
There was a long pause before Elias answered. His voice was low, edged with shame.
"My body… it's a complete mess. The mana veins inside me are crooked, broken in places. When I draw in energy, it slips out of rhythm, like water leaking through cracks. I studied, I practiced, I even begged a mentor to train me. Years of drills, incantations, exercises—and every attempt ended the same. Burnt hands. Failed sparks. Laughter behind my back. No matter how much I knew, I couldn't hold it steady."
Joshey's chest tightened. He lowered his hand slowly. "…I'm sorry. That sounds—awful. To know so much, and yet not…" He trailed off, unable to find the right words.
Joshey stared at the ragged hole in the ceiling, a hand still trembling from the blast. Bits of straw drifted down like lazy snow. He exhaled sharply, muttering, "Great… first day in another world and I've already redecorated."
Elias's voice came through, tight with panic.
"Redecorated? You blew the roof off! Do you even realize what you've done?!"
Joshey winced. "Relax, it's just a hole. Patch it up, throw some wood over it, nobody's going to—"
"Nobody's going to—?! I wasn't even done paying for this house!" Elias snapped. His voice cracked with real fear now. "If anyone sees this, they'll think I can't pay my debts! You know what happens then? Chains. Slavery. That's what."
Joshey froze, his eyes widening. "…You're kidding."
"Does it sound like I'm kidding?!"
The silence that followed was heavy. Joshey rubbed the back of his neck, guilt pricking at him. "Alright, alright. I get it. Then we'll find a way to pay. Work, trade—whatever this place uses as money. If there's a debt, I'll cover it somehow. Problem solved, yeah?"
Elias sighed heavily. The anger ebbed, but the worry stayed.
"…You're not wrong. But you don't understand—walking around with my face, not knowing who owes me what, who I've spoken to, who I can't stand—you'll trip up immediately. Even a neighbor asking the wrong question will give you away."
Joshey crossed his arms, frowning. "So what do you suggest? Because right now, I'm one bad question away from being exposed, and you're screaming about chains. That's not exactly helpful."
For a moment, Elias was quiet. Then, in a low voice, almost reluctant:
"…I'll have to trust you."
Joshey blinked. "Trust me with what?"
"With my memories," Elias said firmly. "Not all of me, not everything—but enough that you'll be able to walk and talk like me without raising suspicion. Six years of my life. That way, at least you'll be aware of what you're doing as 'Elias.'"
Joshey raised his brows. "Wait, you can just… dump memories into me? That sounds dangerous."
"It is," Elias admitted. "But it's more dangerous to do nothing."
Joshey hesitated, then gave a weak chuckle. "Figures. My first day in this world and I'm already getting homework."
Before he could say more, a sudden rush slammed into his mind. Heat, sound, color—faces he didn't know, streets he hadn't walked, debts he had never owed. Nights of failure with fire sparking too violently, burns across pale arms, laughter in the background. Arguments with a landlord. Quiet evenings eating scraps alone.
Joshey staggered, gripping his head. "H-Hey—! This feels like cramming for six years of exams in one second!"
Elias's voice rang firm, though tinged with sympathy.
"Endure it. If you can't handle this, you won't survive even a day as me."
Joshey's knees buckled. His vision blurred, sparks of white light exploding at the edges. The flood of Elias's life poured into him, unstoppable.
He collapsed onto the floorboards with a heavy thud, the world fading to black.
The last thing he heard was Elias's voice, softer now, almost gentle:
"Now you get a broader understanding of who we are."
The world was dark for a while. Elias's memories rushed like a storm in Joshey's head—faces, places, debts, burns from failed training, laughter that stung more than fire itself. When he finally stirred, the haze hadn't even cleared before a voice pierced through.
"ELIAS!!"
Sylvaine's cry shook the hut. She dropped to her knees beside his motionless body, her black hair sweeping across his face as she shook him. "Elias! Wake up! Please—don't you dare leave me here after that explosion!"
Joshey groaned, eyes fluttering open. He blinked against the blur, then focused on the anxious woman above him. His lips parted instinctively—recognition not his own, but carried from the flood of Elias's memories.
"…Sylvaine?"
She froze. Relief crashed into her like a wave, her eyes softening. "Thank the stars… you're alive."
Joshey pushed himself up slowly, still wavering from the overload in his mind. He managed a weak grin. "Yeah… sorry about the scare. Guess I overdid it."
Sylvaine frowned, concern etched across her face. "What happened? I heard the blast, and then I find you like this—" her gaze flicked upward, to the gaping hole in the roof, "—and that. What in the world did you do?"
Joshey hesitated, then raised his hand. "I… controlled fire. Mana. At least, I think I did."
Sylvaine stared, utterly still for a heartbeat before she shook her head. "No. That's impossible. Elias, you've never managed more than a spark in three years of training. Not once. I've been teaching you myself, remember? You always failed to stabilize your output."
Joshey smiled faintly. "I know. But this time… it was different. It didn't feel like I was calling mana. It felt like… it was coming to me."
Elias's voice echoed sharply inside.
"You idiot, don't say it like that! You manipulated your own body heat and blew the roof off without control! You didn't 'call' anything—you almost cooked us alive!"
Joshey winced but ignored him, lifting his palm again. Sylvaine opened her mouth to stop him—then froze as a small flame sparked to life, steady and controlled this time. The firelight glowed softly in his palm.
Her eyes widened, shimmering with disbelief. "You… really did it."
Joshey shrugged, grinning sheepishly. "Guess I finally got the hang of it."
Sylvaine pressed her hand to her lips, her voice trembling. "For three years, you never once… and now you…" A laugh slipped out, shaky but filled with relief. "I can't believe it. I'm… I'm so proud of you, Elias."
Joshey let the flame flicker out. He glanced up at the destroyed roof, grimacing. "But… yeah. About that. Pretty sure the guild lord's not going to find this as exciting as you did."
Sylvaine crossed her arms, raising a brow. "You think? That roof is going to cost more than you've earned in months of vegetables. How are you going to fix it, Elias?"
Joshey scratched his head, awkward. Then, as if it were the simplest solution in the world, he said: "Easy. Borrow me a ton of money."
Sylvaine blinked. Then blinked again. "…Excuse me?"
Inside, Elias exploded.
"YOU ABSOLUTE FOOL! Are you insane?! Don't you dare say that to her! She's rich, yes, but she's been offering help for years and I've refused—because I refuse to be a burden!"
Joshey frowned inwardly. "Well, newsflash—we've got a hole in the ceiling, and unless we plan on watching the stars every night, we need the cash."
Sylvaine tilted her head, confusion mixing with concern. "…Borrow money? From me? Elias, you've always refused. You told me countless times you'd rather break your back in the fields than take my coin. And now suddenly you—"
Joshey raised his hands defensively. "Look, I just… realized pride doesn't fix holes. Or pay debts. We don't have time to be stubborn. I need help. I'm asking you, just this once."
Sylvaine studied him for a long, quiet moment. She could feel something was different, but the flame he had shown her still danced in her mind's eye, warming her doubts. Slowly, she exhaled, shaking her head with a small smile. "You… really have changed. Maybe blowing up your own roof knocked some sense into you."
Elias's voice seethed inside Joshey's head.
"You… absolute… IDIOT. I'm going to lose my dignity at this rate. She'll never let this go."
Joshey smirked faintly to himself. "Better dignity than slavery, right?"
Sylvaine glanced at him, softening. "…You're serious about this, aren't you?"
Joshey nodded. "Dead serious."
For the first time since stepping into Caligurn, he felt the weight of survival pressing on him. Elias's debts. This fragile roof. The threat of slavery. And now, the strange flame flickering inside him.
He looked at Sylvaine, her silver eyes steady on him, and for once—he didn't feel like he was completely alone.
Sylvaine finally broke into a laugh, shaking her head. "You really have changed, Elias. Three years ago, you'd rather starve than ask me for help. And now you're standing under a ruined roof, straight-faced, asking me for money."
Joshey grinned sheepishly. "Well, pride doesn't patch ceilings. Besides, I figured I'd ask now before I blow up the walls too."
She chuckled again, then folded her arms. "Alright, then. How much are we talking about?"
Without hesitation, Joshey said, "Three million florins."
The smile on Sylvaine's face froze. Her eyes narrowed slightly. "…Three million?"
Joshey nodded. "Yup."
Her brows furrowed as her voice dropped, quiet but sharp. "The house you just damaged is only worth three hundred florins. Why in the spirits' name would you need ten thousand times that amount?"
Joshey waved his hand casually, like it was nothing. "Because I don't just want to patch a roof. I need to start a legitimate business. Something with reach. If I invest the money right, in one year, I can pay you back the full amount."
Sylvaine blinked slowly, staring at him. "One year."
"One year," Joshey repeated, nodding firmly.
Inside, Elias practically screamed.
"Three million?! Are you insane?! I struggled to make ends meet with vegetables, and now you're planning an empire overnight?! What are you doing, fool?!"
But he didn't push. Curiosity, sharp and wary, burned in his voice.
"…I'll watch. Let's see what kind of surprises you're hiding."
Sylvaine's eyes lingered on Joshey, searching him in silence. She was no ordinary elf—she was the Mana Codex, the pinnacle of elven magic, the strongest among the Elven Court. Every flicker of his mana, every slight shift in his presence, she noticed. Something about him was… different. Not just confidence, but an unfamiliar rhythm under his words.
She didn't press. Not yet. Instead, she smiled faintly, though her eyes held a glimmer of suspicion. "You speak like a man with a plan. Fine. If you're truly serious, then we'll do this properly."
Joshey brightened. "So you'll lend me the money?"
"I'll lend you the money," Sylvaine confirmed. "But since you said borrow, you'll pay it back. We'll sign an agreement through the Guild. That way, you're bound by oath and law. No excuses."
"Perfect," Joshey said without hesitation.
Elias groaned internally.
"Perfect? You're tying yourself to the Guild in debt! Are you even listening to yourself?!"
Ignoring him, Joshey allowed Sylvaine to pull him up by the arm. She was stronger than she looked—before he knew it, he was on his feet, still a little wobbly from the mana overload.
"First, we'll stop by the diner," she said briskly, brushing dust from his shoulders as if he were still a child. "You look half-dead. Food, then the Guild."
Joshey blinked. "Wait, you work at a diner?"
Sylvaine smirked. "What, you thought the strongest mage of the Elven Court just sits around all day? Even I need to pay bills."
Joshey laughed despite himself. "Fair point."
And so, with the sun dipping low outside the broken hut, Sylvaine guided him toward the village. To the diner first, then the Guild—where Joshey, armed with Elias's memories and his own reckless ambition, would tie himself to three million florins of borrowed coin.
Unbeknownst to him, both Elias and Sylvaine were already watching closely—one from within, one from without. Both waiting to see just who he truly was.
Sylvaine finally broke into a laugh, shaking her head. "You really have changed, Elias. Three years ago, you'd rather starve than ask me for help. And now you're standing under a ruined roof, straight-faced, asking me for money."
Joshey grinned sheepishly. "Well, pride doesn't patch ceilings. Besides, I figured I'd ask now before I blow up the walls too."
She chuckled again, then folded her arms. "Alright, then. How much are we talking about?"
Without hesitation, Joshey said, "Three million florins."
The smile on Sylvaine's face froze. Her eyes narrowed slightly. "…Three million?"
Joshey nodded. "Yup."
Her brows furrowed as her voice dropped, quiet but sharp. "The house you just damaged is only worth three hundred florins. Why in the spirits' name would you need ten thousand times that amount?"
Joshey waved his hand casually, like it was nothing. "Because I don't just want to patch a roof. I need to start a legitimate business. Something with reach. If I invest the money right, in one year, I can pay you back the full amount."
Sylvaine blinked slowly, staring at him. "One year."
"One year," Joshey repeated, nodding firmly.
Inside, Elias practically screamed.
"Three million?! Are you insane?! I struggled to make ends meet with vegetables, and now you're planning an empire overnight?! What are you doing, fool?!"
But he didn't push. Curiosity, sharp and wary, burned in his voice.
"…I'll watch. Let's see what kind of surprises you're hiding."
Sylvaine's eyes lingered on Joshey, searching him in silence. She was no ordinary elf—she was the Mana Codex, the pinnacle of elven magic, the strongest among the Elven Court. Every flicker of his mana, every slight shift in his presence, she noticed. Something about him was… different. Not just confidence, but an unfamiliar rhythm under his words.
She didn't press. Not yet. Instead, she smiled faintly, though her eyes held a glimmer of suspicion. "You speak like a man with a plan. Fine. If you're truly serious, then we'll do this properly."
Joshey brightened. "So you'll lend me the money?"
"I'll lend you the money," Sylvaine confirmed. "But since you said borrow, you'll pay it back. We'll sign an agreement through the Guild. That way, you're bound by oath and law. No excuses."
"Perfect," Joshey said without hesitation.
Elias groaned internally.
"Perfect? You're tying yourself to the Guild in debt! Are you even listening to yourself?!"
Ignoring him, Joshey allowed Sylvaine to pull him up by the arm. She was stronger than she looked—before he knew it, he was on his feet, still a little wobbly from the mana overload.
"First, we'll stop by the diner," she said briskly, brushing dust from his shoulders as if he were still a child. "You look half-dead. Food, then the Guild."
Joshey blinked. "Wait, you work at a diner?"
Sylvaine smirked. "What, you thought the strongest mage of the Elven Court just sits around all day? Even I need to pay bills."
Joshey laughed despite himself. "Fair point."
And so, with the sun dipping low outside the broken hut, Sylvaine guided him toward the village. To the diner first, then the Guild—where Joshey, armed with Elias's memories and his own reckless ambition, would tie himself to three million florins of borrowed coin.
Unbeknownst to him, both Elias and Sylvaine were already watching closely—one from within, one from without. Both waiting to see just who he truly was.
(break scene)
The cobblestone street widened as Sylvaine and Joshey came around the plaza's bend.
"There," Sylvaine said, pointing ahead.
The Guild was impossible to miss. It wasn't just a building — it was a statement. Pale stone walls reinforced with mana-etched pillars, a bronze crest of a sword crossed with a quill mounted above enormous double doors. Azure lines of mana pulsed faintly along the arches, alive and rhythmic, like the place itself was breathing.
Joshey whistled under his breath. "Damn… HR never looked like this back in Lagos."
Sylvaine shot him a side-eye. "HR?"
He coughed, waving it off. "Long story."
The moment they stepped inside, the atmosphere hit him like a wave — noise and order, chaos and law stitched together. The hall buzzed with life: adventurers in armor trading monster parts at the appraisal counter, merchants negotiating contracts under glowing glyphs, clerks stamping parchments with mana-seals that chimed faintly at each approval.
The air smelled of parchment, steel oil, and spiced broth drifting in from the canteen tucked into one corner. Overhead, rune-glass panels in the ceiling projected constellations in golden threads of light, shifting slowly with the time of day.
Joshey muttered, half to himself, "Feels like Wall Street got married to Hogwarts."
Elias groaned inside his head.
"What nonsense are you spouting? Focus."
"Yeah, yeah," Joshey whispered back, earning a confused glance from Sylvaine.
They passed the quest boards first — one wall plastered with mercantile contracts (deliveries, trade escorts, procurement requests), the other with adventuring jobs (slay a beast, guard a caravan, investigate ruins). Color-bands separated them by rank. Higher-tier notices were locked under glass, pulsing with protective runes.
Joshey slowed, eyes catching on one parchment marked in crimson. "Monster extermination, hazard class… B? Huh, looks like job listings back home, just with more fangs involved."
Sylvaine tugged his sleeve. "Eyes forward, Elias. You're here for a contract, not to daydream."
They reached the central counters, three crescent-shaped desks beneath a domed ceiling. Mana screens hovered over each, projecting glowing text in Caligurn's script — yet, thanks to Elias's memories, Joshey could read them perfectly:
Intake & Registration Contracts & Arbitration Appraisal & Bounties
Sylvaine steered him toward Contracts & Arbitration. The clerk there — a thin elf with ink-stained gloves and sharp eyes — raised his brow.
"Miss Sylvaine," he greeted politely. "To what do we owe the honor?"
Sylvaine gestured at Joshey. "He needs a loan. Three million florins."
The clerk's quill nearly snapped. His gaze darted to Joshey, then back to Sylvaine. "…Three million?"
Joshey gave his most professional Lagos-recruiter smile. "Yup. Business startup. Full repayment in one year."
Elias's voice shrieked inside his head.
"Stop saying it so casually! You sound like a madman!"
The clerk blinked twice, then adjusted his spectacles. "Very well. The Guild will require collateral, witnesses, and a mana-signature. Step into the Oath Chamber."
As they followed, Sylvaine glanced sideways at him. Her lips curved faintly, though her eyes studied him with that unnerving sharpness she always carried. "Three million, huh? You've really changed, Elias."
Joshey grinned, scratching his cheek. "For the better, I hope."
"For the dumber," Elias muttered.
Sylvaine laughed softly, shaking her head. "We'll see. Either way… I'll be watching."
They entered the round Oath Chamber, the silver mandala glowing faintly on the floor, its lines already pulsing in anticipation of the contract to be bound.
For Joshey, it felt like stepping into the center of a heartbeat.
The silver mandala dimmed beneath Joshey's palm as the Oath Chamber sealed his signature into mana-thread. A final, resonant hum vibrated through the polished obsidian table, sinking into his bones before fading into silence. The air, thick with the scent of ozone and old parchment, finally stilled.
The clerk's quill left the final, elaborate flourish in the massive ledger. The ink, a peculiar iridescent black, seemed to absorb the light for a moment before settling. With a soft chime that seemed to come from everywhere at once, a heavy, iron-bound chest shimmered into existence on the side counter—Guild escrow delivered in full. The wood was dark and rich, banded with silver that pulsed once with a soft blue light before going dormant.
"Three million florins, contract signed and sealed," the clerk intoned, his voice devoid of any emotion, though his eyes flicked from Joshey to Sylvaine, lingering on the latter with a look of pure, unadulterated bafflement at the absurd number. "The Guild thanks you for your… trust." The pause was microscopic, but it spoke volumes.
Joshey stepped forward, his hand closing around the chest's cold, wrought-iron handle. He hefted it with both hands, the weight startling—it felt far heavier than any chest containing mere coin had a right to. The solidity of it was satisfying, a tangible anchor in the whirlwind his life had become.
"Thank you," he said, turning to Sylvaine with a genuine, relieved smile. The formality of the chamber made his voice softer than intended. "Seriously. You didn't have to do this. You saved me today."
Sylvaine uncrossed her arms, her expression a complex tapestry of wry amusement and deep-seated suspicion. The dim magical sconces of the Oath Chamber cast dancing shadows across her sharp features. "Don't thank me yet, Elias. You still have to pay it back. In a year. With interest. Remember the terms you so confidently agreed to?" Her tone was light, but her silver eyes were serious, pinning him in place. "The Guild doesn't deal in extensions or misunderstandings. That chest," she nodded toward it, "comes with chains you can't see. Until it's empty again, they're wrapped around you."
"I remember," Joshey said, his voice firm, his grip tightening on the handle. "I will."
He hesitated, shifting his weight. The confidence of his business pitch ebbed slightly, replaced by a more personal, earnest need. "Actually… there's something else. Now that this is settled." He gestured vaguely around them, at the chamber that thrummed with latent power. "Mana engineering. The theories… they're in my head now. Thanks to… everything." He tapped his temple, a clumsy reference to the memory dump she knew nothing about. "But knowing and doing are two different things. I need practice. Real, proper practice. I want to learn how to actually control it. Not just make it… explode."
Sylvaine blinked, then let out a short, breathy laugh that echoed softly in the solemn room. She shook her head, a strand of her dark hair slipping over her shoulder. "Of course you do. You burn a catastrophic hole in your roof one time, nearly concuss yourself, and suddenly you're ready for the advanced curriculum." She reached out and tapped his forehead lightly with one finger. "Not now. The sun is setting, and I've got a diner to run. Helga's probably already cursing my name for leaving her with the dinner rush."
She saw the flicker of disappointment on his face and relented, her expression softening a fraction. "But—" she held up a finger, "—I can spare some weekends. My shifts are lighter then. I'll stop by your place. We can see if that control of yours was a fluke or something more. Consider it part of my investment. A faulty vessel isn't a good risk, after all."
Joshey's face lit up, the worry melting away. "Really? That's… thank you, Sylvaine. Again. For all of it."
"Mm," she hummed, a small smile finally touching her lips. "Just try not to blow up another ceiling before then. Or yourself. It's bad for business."
With a final, appraising look that seemed to take in every detail of his hopeful expression, she turned. The heavy oak door of the Oath Chamber swung open for her without a touch, and she stepped out into the cooler air of the Guild hall's main plaza.
Joshey stood for a moment longer in the silent, powerful room, the weight of the chest in his hand and the weight of his promise hanging in the air around him. Then, squaring his shoulders, he followed her out, leaving the silent clerk and the glowing mandala behind, stepping into his new future one heavy, determined step at a time.
Break scene
Joshey stood in the bustling Guild plaza, the weight of the chest a sobering counterpoint to the surreal high of actually securing the loan. The three million florins felt less like capital and more like a lead weight chained to his ankle.
"I can't believe she actually did it," he thought, the reality sinking in. "I didn't fully imagine Sylvaine would loan me this cash just like that."
Elias's voice, sharp and dripping with acidic triumph, sliced through his daze. "Of course you didn't! You were running your mouth, playing a reckless game with a life that isn't yours! And now look what you've done. Congratulations. You've successfully buried us in a debt so deep we could mine for ore. Three million florins! Do you have any concept of what that means? We'll be indentured for a hundred lifetimes!"
Joshey winced, hefting the chest. "We'll be fine. It's an investment."
"An investment in what?!" Elias shrieked, his panic a live wire in Joshey's mind. "In more spectacular ways to fail? You have a farm that barely yields enough to pay the land tax! What business? What plan? You spoke pretty words to Sylvaine, but you gave me nothing! What are you going to do, buy a million rakes?!"
A slow grin spread across Joshey's face. The corporate recruiter was back, seeing a market ripe for disruption. "You're thinking too small, Elias. You see a farm. I see an untapped market. You see debt. I see leverage." He turned on his heel, striding back towards the imposing Guild doors.
"What are you doing? Where are you going? We just left!" Elias's confusion was palpable.
"You asked what the plan is," Joshey said, his voice low and steady as he pushed through the heavy doors back into the organized chaos of the Guild hall. "So I'll show you. Watch and learn."
He didn't wander aimlessly. Elias's memories provided a perfect, intuitive map of the Guild's layout. He bypassed the crowded intake counters and the noisy appraisal sector, his gaze fixed on a quieter wing marked by glowing sigils of scales and scrolling numerical runes.
The air here was different—less sweat and steel, more calculated silence and the soft rustle of parchment. Clerks in neat robes spoke in hushed tones, their fingers tracing figures on mana-slates that glowed with soft light.
Joshey walked down a corridor, his eyes scanning the placards on the doors: Taxation & Tithes, Mercantile Law, Long-Distance Trade Arbitration. He stopped before one at the end of the hall. The placard was simple, wrought in polished brass: Market Operations & Liquidity
He took a steadying breath, smoothed down the rough-spun tunic that felt so alien on him, and knocked firmly on the door.
A moment of silence, then a crisp, female voice called out, "Come in."
Joshey pushed the door open and stepped inside, leaving a very bewildered Elias screaming into the void of their shared consciousness.
The door clicked shut behind Joshey, sealing him in a room that was a temple of orderly commerce. The air smelled of lemon polish, fine parchment, and the faint, dry ozone of active mana-slates. A single, large window let in the afternoon light, illuminating motes of dust dancing above a meticulously organized desk.
Behind it sat Secretary Evelyn Hartwell. She was a woman whose presence seemed to compress the very air in the room, making it feel both still and charged. Her hair was swept into a severe bun, and her eyes, the color of flint, assessed him in a single, unnervingly comprehensive glance before flicking down to the ledger before her. She did not smile.
"Please, take a seat," she said, her voice crisp and efficient, devoid of warmth. It was a command, not a request.
Joshey sat, placing the heavy chest on the floor beside his chair with a soft thud that seemed obscenely loud in the quiet room.
"Name and business?" she asked, her quill poised above a fresh sheet of parchment. She did not look up.
"My name is Elias," Joshey said, keeping his voice calm and direct, mirroring her professional tone. "I wish to acquire the operating rights to a market under guild jurisdiction—specifically, one dealing in weapons and garments."
The scratching of her quill stopped. Evelyn Hartwell looked up, her gaze sharp enough to pin him to his chair. She arched a single, perfectly sculpted brow. "A market license," she stated, her tone making it clear the request was both unusual and suspect. "That is not a minor petition. Establishments dealing in such goods fall under stringent guild regulation due to the inherent trade and security risks. Why do you believe you are qualified to hold such a license?"
"Yes, Elias," the voice in his head taunted, dripping with sarcastic glee. "Do tell the nice lady why you're qualified. Let's list your credentials: failed farmer, pyro-mana dropout, and now, apparently, a real estate mogul with three million florins of someone else's money. I'm sure she'll be impressed."
Joshey ignored him, leaning forward slightly. "I have the capital required to not only purchase the rights but to sustainably operate and secure the venture," he began, his voice measured. "My intention is to create a centralized, highly regulated hub for these trades. Weapons and garments represent two commodities with constant, high demand. Consolidating their trade into a single, guild-controlled market minimizes rogue trading, standardizes quality, and increases levy collection efficiency. It benefits the guild's authority and the community's safety."
Evelyn's expression did not change. She tapped her quill lightly against the ledger. "Many individuals have capital. That alone does not grant credibility or operational competence. Do you have prior experience in mercantile trade? Established connections to reputable smiths or tailors? Or are you, perhaps, simply an opportunist with a chest of coin and no understanding of the complexities involved?"
"She sees right through you!" Elias crowed. "She knows a fraud when she sees one! Tell her about your extensive background in… what was it? Global supply chain recruitment? I'm sure that translates perfectly to hawking swords and tunics in a fantasy world!"
Joshey chose strategic honesty. "I will not claim a long-standing history in trade," he admitted, which felt like a vast understatement. "However, I am resourceful and an adept negotiator. I have already begun outreach to local artisans who are currently underserved by the existing, fragmented market structure. They are eager for a fair, centralized platform. But more importantly than my own connections, I am prepared to commit to the guild's fees and oversight consistently and transparently—not merely as a initial investment, but as a long-term partnership."
Evelyn Hartwell leaned back in her chair, steepling her fingers. Her eyes narrowed, assessing him not as a person, but as a risk-to-reward ratio. "And what of security? A market that specializes in weapons is a beacon for black-market dealers, smugglers, and organized troublemakers. It becomes a target. How precisely do you intend to prevent your establishment from becoming a haven for such elements and a net drain on guild resources?"
"Oh, this is my favorite part," Elias hissed. "Please, enlighten us. How will you stop the thieves and cutthroats? With your fearsome rake? Perhaps you'll threaten them with a poorly aimed fireball?"
Joshey's gaze remained steady. "Through proactive cooperation with the guild itself. I propose that all merchants operating within the market be required to hold a guild-issued vendor's permit, vetted by your office. Furthermore, I would formally request that the guild appoint its own inspectors to be stationed on-site, their salaries covered by a percentage of the market's levy income. This would ensure compliance, deter illicit activity, and demonstrate that the operation is an extension of the guild's authority, not a challenge to it. My aim is not to create a independent fiefdom, but to build a bastion of order under direct guild oversight."
There was a long silence broken only by the soft scratch of Evelyn's quill as she made several notes. She looked from him to the chest of coins and back again, her expression unreadable.
Finally, she set her quill down. "You present a… curiously structured proposal," she said, her tone diplomatic yet laced with profound skepticism. "You speak of partnership and oversight with a fluency that is uncommon for one with no stated background. It is either shrewdly calculated or dangerously naïve."
She closed her ledger with a definitive snap. "Very well. I will document your petition and present it to the Guild Master. However, you will understand that such a significant allocation of guild trust and resources cannot be decided lightly. You will wait here until the Guild Master is ready to receive you. Do not mistake this acknowledgment for approval. Markets are not playthings for the ambitious. Should you be granted this license and subsequently fail to meet the guild's exacting standards, the consequences will be severe and absolute. Your license will be revoked, your assets seized, and your standing within any guild city permanently forfeit. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"
Joshey gave a respectful nod. "Perfectly clear, Secretary Hartwell. I am prepared to accept those terms. My goal is to strengthen the guild's trade network, not test its patience."
Evelyn Hartwell gave a curt, dismissive nod, her attention already returning to a different stack of parchments. "Then you may wait. Do not touch anything."
The audience was over. For now.
The silence in Secretary Hartwell's office was absolute, broken only by the faint, rhythmic tap of her quill and the distant, muffled hum of the Guild hall beyond the door. Joshey sat perfectly still, his hands resting on his knees, the image of patient composure.
Internally, it was a warzone.
"You see?" Elias's voice was a scalpel, precise and cold. "This is what your 'plan' has earned us. A waiting room and a threat of permanent exile. She doesn't believe a word you said. You're a curiosity, an anomaly she's passing up the chain because she can't categorize you. This isn't a business meeting; it's an inquisition waiting to happen."
Just trust me, Elias, Joshey thought back, the mental words firm, a wall against the other's panic. I know what I'm doing. This is how these things work. You have to project confidence, have a vision. The specifics can be figured out later.
"Trust you?" The laugh in Elias's mind was hollow, devoid of humor. "You are a ghost wearing my skin, a man who ended his own life and now plays with mine as if it were a game! You speak of 'visions' and 'figuring out specifics.' Those are the words of a gambler, not a strategist. My body is the stake on your table. So, I will ask you again, and you will answer me with truth, not pretty lies: what is your end game? What do you truly desire?"
He pushed harder, the memory of his own desperate, painful sacrifice lending his mental voice a raw edge. "I gave you my memories—every humiliation, every failed spark, every hope I ever crushed—so you could find a way to untangle us. So you could find a way to leave. Was that not the point? To free us both from this… this prison of shared flesh?"
Joshey's composure in the real world didn't flicker, but internally, he flinched. The directness of the question struck a chord, bypassing the recruiter's facade and touching the raw nerve of the man beneath.
It was. It is, Joshey admitted, the thought quieter, more subdued. I will find a way to give you your life back. I promise.
"Then why this?!" Elias demanded, a wave of frustration and fear washing through their shared consciousness. "Why shackle us to a three-million-florin debt and a pipe dream about a market? Why draw this much attention?"
Because I can't just leave.
The thought was heavy, freighted with a guilt Elias could feel but not understand.
In my world, Joshey continued, the mental images flashing—a sleek black mask, cold gloves, the weight of a gun that wasn't for justice but for pain. I… was something else. I thought I was an arbiter. A savior. I thought I was delivering justice. But I wasn't. I was just a man with a gun and a reason to be angry. And my… my oldest friend. He died because of me. Because of what I was, what I decided to become.
The memory was a shard of ice in his heart. The feeling of righteous fury curdling into hollow, devastating regret.
If I am to leave this body, Joshey thought, the conviction solidifying like steel, if I am to leave you, I will not do it as that man. I won't just be a ghost who passed through, causing more chaos. I need to do what is right. I need to make an impact. A positive one. For once. I need to leave you better than I found you. Not with a patched roof, but with a legacy. Something that lasts. This… he mentally gestured at the room, the Guild, the ambitious plan, …this is me trying to do that. This is me trying to be the savior I pretended to be.
The silence between them was different now. The taunting edge was gone from Elias's presence, replaced by a wary, bewildered contemplation. He could feel the truth in Joshey's words, the deep, lingering shame that was so different from his own feelings of magical inadequacy.
"You… killed your friend?" Elias asked, his voice barely a mental whisper.
I thought I was saving him from something worse, Joshey replied, the old pain a familiar ache. I was wrong.
For a long moment, there was no response. Joshey could feel Elias sifting through the new, grim context, reassessing the stranger in his mind.
Finally, Elias's voice came, quieter, stripped of its venom. "A positive impact…?" He sounded like he was testing the words, trying them on. They were foreign concepts in a life defined by struggle and failure.
"Just… try not to get us enslaved before you achieve this 'legacy,'" he muttered, the fear still there but now tempered by a sliver of something else—not trust, but a desperate, hesitant curiosity.
Before Joshey could respond, the door to the inner office opened. Secretary Hartwell stood there, her expression as impassive as ever.
"The Guild Master will see you now."
The door to the inner office was not just wood; it was a barrier of dark, polished timber reinforced with bands of cold-forged iron and subtle, shimmering mana-seals that faded as Secretary Hartwell pushed it open. The room beyond was a testament to power and order. Trophies of monstrous beasts adorned the walls alongside framed guild charters. A massive desk of obsidianwood dominated the space, behind which sat Cassimir Thorne.
He was a man who seemed carved from the same material as his desk—hard, imposing, and immovable. His hair was steel-grey, his beard closely cropped, and his eyes, the color of a winter sky, missed nothing. He did not stand, but his gaze lifted from a mana-slate to pin Joshey where he stood.
"Mister Elias," his voice was a low rumble, devoid of warmth. "Secretary Hartwell tells me you seek to purchase the operating rights to the East Quarter Market." He gestured to the chair opposite him. "Sit."
Joshey did so, placing the heavy chest beside his chair. The weight of the man's attention was heavier.
"Do you understand the price?" Thorne asked, his fingers steepled.
"Yes, Guild Master. Seventy thousand florins, as recorded," Joshey replied, his voice steady and respectful.
"Correct. Seventy thousand," Thorne repeated, the words final as a judge's gavel. "Paid in full, upfront. No installments. Markets are the bloodlines of this guild's wealth. We do not hand them out lightly." He leaned forward slightly, the movement deliberate. "Furthermore, you'll be required to staff it with guild-approved workers and a record-keeper to maintain ledgers and levy collection. Their combined wages will be ninety florins weekly. Have you considered that ongoing burden?"
"Seventy thousand upfront?!" Elias's panic was a white-hot spike in Joshey's mind. "We don't have that! The three million is for the business, not just the license! This is over! Tell him it's over!"
Joshey ignored him. He met Thorne's gaze without flinching. "With respect, Guild Master, I would like to propose an alternative to a single, upfront payment."
Secretary Hartwell, who had been standing by the door, took a sharp breath. "Mister Elias, you will mind your—"
Thorne held up a single hand without looking at her. She fell immediately silent. His icy eyes remained fixed on Joshey. "Speak."
"A full payment removes liquid capital needed to actually make the market successful, which ultimately serves the guild's interest," Joshey began, his tone that of a negotiator, not a supplicant. "I propose an initial payment of sixty percent of the fee—forty-two thousand florins—today. The remaining twenty-eight thousand would be paid annually over the next two years, with an additional twenty-five percent interest on the outstanding balance per annum. This guarantees the guild a significant sum immediately, a larger total sum in the long run, and ensures I have the capital to make the venture profitable for everyone."
The silence in the room was absolute. Hartwell looked as if she'd been slapped. Elias was screaming a continuous, wordless stream of terror inside his head.
Thorne's expression did not change, but a faint, almost imperceptible light of interest flickered in his cold eyes. "An interest-bearing installment plan," he stated, as if tasting the unfamiliar concept. "You would bind yourself to such terms? The penalties for missed payments would be severe."
"I understand the risks, Guild Master. I would not propose it if I were not confident in the venture's success."
"And the workers' salaries? Ninety florins a week is non-negotiable."
"The guild's right to set a minimum wage for certified staff is acknowledged," Joshey said, smoothly pivoting. "However, the method of payment is, I believe, still at the proprietor's discretion. I will handle the payroll myself, distributing the ninety florins weekly as required. This ensures the workers are paid fairly and on time, without further administrative burden on the guild's offices."
"...You're not just saying no to him," Elias whispered, his panic receding into stunned awe. "You're… negotiating. You're changing the shape of the deal."
Thorne studied him for a long, heavy moment. The winter in his eyes seemed to thaw by a single degree. He leaned back in his chair. "You argue your case with… unexpected precision, Mister Elias. Very well. I will entertain your proposal. The terms are acceptable: forty-two thousand now, the remainder plus twenty-five percent annual interest, paid over two years. The workers' pay is to be disbursed by you, weekly, without fail." He gestured to the chest. "The initial payment. Now."
Joshey bent down, opened the chest, and began counting out stacks of florins onto the desk. The clink of each stack was a loud proclamation in the silent room.
As he counted, Thorne spoke again, his tone shifting from interrogator to something marginally more conversational. "I must admit, I had heard your name in passing before today, Mister Elias. Usually in contexts far removed from high finance and market management."
Joshey finished stacking the coins and looked up, meeting Thorne's gaze. "People can change, Guild Master. Or perhaps they can finally pursue the talents they were meant to, given the right opportunity."
A faint, grim smile touched Thorne's lips. "Indeed. I am Cassimir Thorne. It appears we will be doing business." He pulled a thick, vellum document from a drawer—the lease agreement, already glowing with faint mana. "The terms are as we have spoken. Your signature, infused with mana, will bind you to them."
Joshey took the proffered quill. It hummed with power in his hand. Without hesitation, he signed Elias at the bottom of the document. A flash of silver light erupted from the signature, sealing the pact. The deed was done.
"We… we did it," Elias thought, his voice a mix of terror and exhilaration. "We actually did it."
Joshey placed the quill down. "Thank you, Guild Master Thorne. You won't regret this."
"See that I don't, Mister Elias," Thorne said, his voice returning to its original rumble. "Secretary Hartwell will see you out."
The heavy oak door of Guild Master Thorne's office closed behind Joshey with a soft, final click. The weight of the signed lease in his hand felt more substantial than the chest of coins he'd arrived with. Secretary Hartwell gave him a look that was equal parts professional disdain and lingering disbelief before turning on her heel.
"This way," she said, her voice clipped. She led him not back into the main hall, but down a narrower corridor to a small antechamber where a young man in the crisp, grey robes of a Guild Recorder stood waiting, a mana-slate tucked under his arm.
"Recorder Finn," Hartwell announced. "You are assigned to the East Quarter Market, under the proprietorship of Mister Elias. You will accompany him for the inventory and key transfer. Ensure all ledgers are in order."
The young man, Finn, bowed his head respectfully to Hartwell and then to Joshey. His eyes were sharp and intelligent, already assessing the new situation and his place in it. "Guild Master," he said to Hartwell, acknowledging the order. Then, to Joshey, "Proprietor. I am at your service."
Hartwell left without another word. Finn gestured toward a side exit. "The East Quarter is this way, sir. It is not far."
They stepped out of the Guild's oppressive grandeur and into the bustling afternoon light of the city. The walk was short, the air changing from the scent of ozone and polish to that of dust, baking stone, and the faint, lingering smell of old produce and rust.
The East Quarter Market was not what Joshey had pictured. It wasn't a hub of activity. It was a cemetery of commerce. A wide, cobblestone square was lined on three sides with empty, shuttered stalls, their wooden frames warped and bleached by the sun. Weeds pushed through the cracks in the stones. At the far end stood a small, locked office, its door looking rotten at the bottom.
A lone, weary-looking man—the previous overseer—slumped on a barrel near the office. He perked up as he saw Finn's grey robes, then eyed Joshey with a mixture of curiosity and resignation. He held out a rusty iron key ring and a battered, mostly empty ledger without a word.
"The keys and the… records," the man mumbled. "Such as they are. Most of the merchants left seasons ago. Good luck to you." He didn't wait for a response, simply shuffling away as if a great weight had been lifted, only to be placed squarely on Joshey's shoulders.
Finn accepted the items and handed them to Joshey. "The physical asset transfer is complete, Proprietor Elias."
Joshey took the keys. The iron was cold and rough in his palm.
"This is it?" Elias's voice was a whisper of dismay in their mind. "This… ruin? This is what we are in debt for? This is what we must make thrive?" The scale of the task was suddenly, terrifyingly real.
It's perfect, Joshey thought back, his internal voice buzzing with a energy Elias couldn't comprehend.
"Perfect? It's a graveyard!"
No. It's a blank slate. Joshey's eyes weren't seeing the rot and the dust. He was seeing the wide aisles, the solid stone foundations of the stalls, the prime location. He was seeing foot traffic from the nearby streets, envisioning painted signs, the clang of a blacksmith's hammer, the vibrant colors of dyed fabrics.
Finn cleared his throat, interrupting the internal dialogue. "My duties, Proprietor, are to record all transactions, collect the guild's levies, and ensure accurate accounting. I report both to you and to the Guild. My weekly salary is forty-five florins. You will also need to hire at least one other worker—a groundskeeper or a guard—at a minimum of forty-five florins weekly. The total, ninety florins, is due every Seventh-day."
The numbers were stated not as a suggestion, but as law. The recorder was not just an employee; he was the guild's watchful eye.
Joshey nodded, his mind already racing ahead. "Understood, Recorder Finn. Our first order of business is to announce the reopening. We'll need notices posted at the Guild and around the district. Then, we'll set stall rents. We'll start low to attract merchants. We'll draft a set of rules—no trade in stolen goods, no trade in unapproved enchanted items, all disputes to be brought to me or my designated enforcer."
Finn's stylus was already scratching across his mana-slate, recording every word. "Noted, sir."
Joshey walked into the center of the empty square. The silence was profound, broken only by the distant sounds of the city. He could feel the weight of it all—the debt, the salaries, the expectations, the sheer physical reality of the dilapidated space. It was a crushing weight.
But as he stood there, a strange thing happened. The weight didn't bow him down. It grounded him. For the first time since he'd arrived in this world, his purpose was not escape or survival. It was creation.
"It is a heavy thing, is it not?" Elias murmured, sensing the shift in Joshey's demeanor, the quiet intensity.
It is, Joshey agreed, looking out at the empty stalls. But heavy things have momentum. This place is dead now. But we are going to make it the heart of this quarter. We're going to make it beat.
He turned to Finn, a new light in his eyes—Elias's pale yellow eyes, now burning with a foreign determination.
"Recorder, let's get to work."